


Conundrum

by wildwordwomyn



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Drama, M/M, Male Friendship, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pre-Slash, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 21:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwordwomyn/pseuds/wildwordwomyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harold comes down from his high. John is there to pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conundrum

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for “Identity Crisis”. And as usual, not mine and certainly not real.

After spending the night in an illegally medicated stupor Harold wakes up stiffly on the sofa in a room of the library. There's a blanket tucked around him but he's missing his tie, shoes, and the first three buttons of his shirt are open, leaving him feeling slightly debauched. It's disconcerting, to say the least. Especially when he cracks open an eyelid and sees his employee sitting comfortably in a chair across the room from him. He makes a sound, a barely-there grunt of unease as the angry throb in his hip makes its unhappiness at being slept on known. The ex-operative's keen sense of hearing picks up on the soft sound so he turns his head to take in Harold's appearance with a well-trained eye.

 

“Good morning,” he calls in his trademark half-whisper. Harold blinks, unsure of what to say for the first time a long while. The man seems to understand, trying to calm his fear. “Don't worry, Finch. Nothing happened last night. We caught the bad guy, or girl in this case, and came back here so you could sleep it off.”

 

“Ecstasy,” Harold remarks groggily. It's all he has in him to say. He's still discombobulated, as if his brain has wandered off somewhere and he doesn't know when it will come back. He sits up slowly, the pain in his neck radiating throughout his upper body. “Have you ever...?” He wants to finish with, 'experienced this particular drug?' but closes his eyes instead, waiting for the room to sway into focus.

 

“I've never had the pleasure,” John responds. Harold knows from reading his files that he's been tortured with others, though. He grimaces in sympathy. “Can I get you anything?”

 

The concern in John's voice is obvious, causing Harold to open his eyes again. Suddenly he finds himself wanting to watch the camera feed of the room from last night. To make sure John didn't do anything ungentlemanly to him. Because he remembers being loose, open in a way he hasn't been since childhood. He might've even welcomed conversation, or a hand on his-

 

“I didn't take advantage if that's what you're thinking, Finch. I could have if I wanted to.” Neither mention that he has the power to do most anything he sets his mind to. “But I didn't. I wouldn't do that to you.”

 

Oddly, Harold believes him. “Water,” he says in answer to John's earlier question.

 

John smiles and unfolds himself from the chair gracefully, bringing Harold a couple bottles of water from the kitchenette. When Harold takes them he turns his body to look up into John's piercing gray eyes. Surprisingly, the smile blossoms into a grin as Harold thanks him. It takes a second for the recluse to realize John is showing him gratitude. That, and something else, something more, he has no idea how to define.

 

“Take the day off, Finch. You'll need it,” John teases, placing them back on familiar ground.

 

The grin falls a little, morphing into his all-knowing smirk. John gives him a two-fingered salute and leaves as stealthily as usual. Later, once Harold has finished off another bottle of water, napped for a bit, showered, performed his therapeutic stretches and dressed, he begins to feel like his normal self again. He sits down at his computers and pulls up last night's security feed on a monitor.

 

For two hours things are as they seem. Harold is sleeping on the sofa while John keeps watch from the chair. Harold can't tell if he sleeps himself. No matter how close he zooms in John's eyelids stay at half-mast. Only when his body twitches on the sofa do John's eyelids raise and show any sign of being aware. As he watches himself grow more restless his gaze shifts back and forth between his double and the man he calls his partner. He subconsciously holds his breath warily when John moves over to him. For a moment he's stationary, looking down silently. With the click of a button Harold switches to another camera angle for a better view.

 

John had been lying when he'd said nothing happened. Or he hadn't told the whole truth. Harold learns this as he spies the man caressing his temple with the back of his fingers until the double calms down. His skin warms, tingling from the phantom touch while it occurs on the monitor. After the double is still again John straightens up and steps back, his fingers almost appearing reluctant to break contact. He continues standing there a minute longer, observing, waiting, but the double stirs no more during the night. Eventually John reclaims his position in the chair and his protective watch over Harold.

 

Harold quickly shuts down the feed then, his eyes wide from shock and confusion. Twice in one day, he thinks, that he has been unsure of his next step. And both times have been centered around John Reese, which presents him with a conundrum. He has always been exceptionally good at puzzles, but this one might never be solved...


End file.
